


The Monthly Journal of Stephannie Kingston

by IllusionEvenstar



Category: Goosebumps - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 13:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12607508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusionEvenstar/pseuds/IllusionEvenstar
Summary: Steph discovers that she has the power to see and attract the dead, and couldn't relate to anyone but her trusted journal. What lies behind her rocky fate?





	1. January Entry

**Author's Note:**

> Another Goosebumps-style fanfic I wrote in 2007, although I have to say it’s more towards original story than a Goosebumps style, but oh well, at least I tried.

**_January 20XX_ **

People say I have problems. My parents say I got problems. My brothers say I got problems. My boyfriend says I got problems. My shrink says I got problems. Even my dog thinks I got problems.

My cousin thought it’d be good if I wrote whatever is bothering me in a monthly journal. Just jot down everything that had happened to me throughout the entire month. I thought I’d give it a try.

You see, I have a tendency to have supernatural encounters. Supernatural stuff often happen around me since I was a kid, but no one ever believes my stories, and that’s where all that “Steph, you got problems” came in. Just this month alone, we started a trend on playing Ouija and our class trend setter Abigail was of no exception. She introduced us to a Japanese Ouija called the Coin Spirit which is said to be harmless fun.

All you have to do is hand around a quiet place, write the alphabets A-Z and numbers 0-9 on a piece of paper in a way that they shape like a heart and the YES and NO in the middle of the heart, and all we need is a simple coin as the bridge between us and the spirit world.

So we did just that. We chose to play it after school behind the toilet and we used Abigail's 20 cent coin. She chanted a few words that sounded funny and began summoning the spirit to come. I didn't know if it was my imagination or not, but I suddenly felt a cold draft blowing at my ear. Next thing we know the coin began to move inside the heart. Abigail told us not to panic and ask questions in turns. I saw Abigail grinned silently at the scared look on my other friends Emmy and Caroline and suspected foul play, but I didn't want to spoil her fun, so I kept quiet.

We started asking the spirit's name. It was a long one and seemed foreign, but I recall it started with an 'E'. We asked many girly silly questions like who's our future husband or what will we be when we finish college, stuff like that. We were so engrossed that we didn't realize it was getting late. By the time the bell rang noting the end of the class, we then knew we were playing the Coin Spirit for the whole day. Hastily, Abigail chanted some verses to send the spirit 'home' and again, I felt the cold draft. As Abigail and I walked home together, she completed the 'sending home' ritual by tearing the paper to 48 pieces, dumping them into an unused well beside the toilet and spending the money on an ice-cream. She claimed that doing this, she made sure that the spirit won't be able to return through the bridge again. I remembered the draft and hoped that she would be alright.

A few weeks later, just like fashion statement, Ouija wasn't in season anymore. I just so happen to go to the loo one day when suddenly I saw a crowd standing around the first cubicle of the toilet. I asked what was going on and one of them told me someone got locked in and couldn't get out.

It was Abigail. Apparently the lock suddenly got stuck and she was trapped. She was crying and raving like a lost girl and wanted out. We tried to calm her down as one of them went to call the Discipline Teacher. She calmed down for a while when suddenly she started screaming again. This time, it wasn't just fear. It was total panic and terror. We heard her pounding at the door frantically and screaming at the top of her lungs. We began to panic as we wondered what was it that made her suddenly react so violently.

Then there was silence. We heard a slight gurgling sound and the pounding and screaming stopped abruptly. I called Abigail over and over again but there was no reply. When the Discipline Teacher finally came and banged the door open, he stopped us from coming any closer, took off his coat and covered Abigail, carrying her quickly out of the cubicle before anyone got to see what happened to her. The teacher drove her to the hospital himself.

It was from word of mouth that I found out that when the Discipline Teacher opened the door, he saw Abigail on the floor, staring at space with her throat slashed, struggling to breathe. The doctors couldn't figure out what kind of object that could leave such fine cut that almost led her close to death. She suffered a massive trauma that sent her mind somewhere else altogether. I heard that she's admitted to the mental hospital and is there till today.

Even before the throat incident, her family had said about her complaining that a 20 cent coin kept returning to her. She remembered spending it on ice-cream and could've sworn she had no more money, but her mother found the exact 20 cent in her pocket when she washed her pinafore. She tried to spend it on calling her friend, but when she hung up it fell out into the money slot even though she had got through the line! She tried other ways like buying sweets, paying the bus fare, donating it to charity, playing video games in the arcade but the coin kept reappearing in her pocket.

It was the same coin that we used to play the Ouija game.

She never dared to tell us as she was afraid she might get us into hot soup for playing Ouija. And because she was slashed so badly that her vocal chord was damaged, she couldn't tell her poor family what happened and what she saw in the cubicle.

No one ever knew the truth. The school kept the issue very hush-hush and convinced us that the cubicle will be sealed due to a faulty lock and that her tragedy was due traumatic hysteria. But I knew better. I bet my other friends involved in the game knew that too.

So far, you’re the only one I’ve ever told about my tales, and I have a feeling I’m gonna be telling you more. Glad I got this off my chest.

I guess you can say this is the beginning of a very beautiful secret friendship.


	2. February Entry

**_February 20XX_ **

My parents had to go overseas on a business trip, and my brothers are out of town with their girlfriends doing goodness knows what (not that I wanna know), so they let me stay at my boyfriend’s place, since according to their standards, I was “too young” to have the house all to myself. During Valentine’s Day, he and his family planned to go on a holiday at one of Borneo’s most popular resort hotels called the Rasa Ria Hotel. Pretty good, if you ask me, with the usual facilities and special services, and I have to admit I did have a good time despite the fact that my boyfriend and I lack a little privacy due to the fact that his miser of a father wanted to save costs by cramming all of us in one room.

Later that night, when the adults decided to have their nightly happy hour at the karaoke lounge, we were left in the room to have our own fun. We, devoid of booze—no thanks to his mother—challenged each other to a coffee fest, seeing who could drink the most coffee at one sitting—black without sugar, in fact. Needless to say, my caffeine-induced brain refused to fall asleep, even when the adults have returned and were snoring quietly on their King-sized bed. I'm not really that immune to coffee and it came as a package deal: insomnia and a nasty headache.

I got up to see if I could get any ice to ease my headache but we ran out of it. Seeing that no one stirred from their sleep, I stole the card key from my boyfriend’s mother’s wallet, took the thermos bucket and crept silently out of the room. There was an ice-vending machine just two floors below ours and I was thinking maybe I could get some ice there and maybe even try to dunk my head into the machine to see if that'll cure my headache, which is, of course, an absurd thing to do. As I reached that floor, I was glad to see the machine just right down the corridor and still on and working. I put the thermos bucket there and waited for it to fill up. I even grabbed a handful and rubbed the cooling ice onto my throbbing head. Ah, bliss.

That was when something really eerie happened. From the right side of the corridor, I heard a distant sound. At first I thought it was probably one of the workers pushing their trolley or something, but it didn't sound like that. It was more of a dragging of something heavy, like the sound of someone moving on the floor with only his arms, dragging along his immobile lower half of the body. The sound was getting closer and closer until I could almost feel it coming towards me. The machine was still filling my thermos bucket and I was panicking. I urged inwardly for the machine to hurry up before I grabbed the bucket and made a dash towards the lift. I pressed frantically as the dragging sound came nearer and nearer. I tentatively looked towards the direction of the sound but there was no one there, yet the sound continued to grow louder and closer to me. I could almost feel it next to me and closing in even nearer.

I practically jumped into the lift when the door slid open. I pressed my floor and slammed the close button as hard as I could. The door started to close for a while, then stopped abruptly in the middle and opened wide again. It stayed open for about a full 5 minutes (which felt like an eternity to me) before closing back again. That really freaked me out because even though I still couldn't see anything, I knew _something_ was in there with me. There was something unsettling in that lift as it sent me up to my floor, as if it was trying to suffocate me with its presence. I went into a verge of hyperventilating when I heard slightly audible sounds of dripping water and heavy breathing surrounded me inside the lift. What's worse, the heavy breathing was just right by both of my ears!

It felt like forever when the lift finally reached my floor. I dashed out of it as fast as I could and ran straight to my room without looking back. Needless to say, I woke everyone up when I slammed the door shut behind me and my headache was gone almost in an instant. My boyfriend saw my ashen face and asked in concern what just happened, but no matter how I try, I just couldn't get whatever I saw into words. I guess the shock took over my speech capacity and I was at loss of words. He thought I must've been harassed by some crazy pervert for the next day, he lodged a complaint to the manager. It was later that I found out when my friend experienced the same thing that there had been a fatal accident or some kind in the past at that particular floor when someone fell and broke both his legs and died due to loss of blood when he was trying to get help.

I guess he didn't know he had already died and continued to ask for our help in vain.


	3. March Entry

**_March 20XX_ **

An exchange student came to our class this month. We found her sitting at the empty seat beside mine and she greeted everyone warmly with a very nice smile on her face. She was Japanese and her name was Kyoko, if I'm not mistaken. She could only speak Japanese and not a single word of English, so I guess I clicked with her really well, since I have been taking Japanese classes and am a big fan of anime. I had to be her translator whenever others wanted to talk to her, so that made me quite popular as well.

Her impression on me was a nice, quiet girl with a sort of dark, mysterious aura about her, like there's something going on in her mind that you really want to find out yet couldn't reach, no matter how you try. She was always the earliest to come to class and always the latest to leave. Many times I wanted to walk with her to her home, but she always shook her head and said that she had other things to do and told me not to wait for her. Most of the time, she just sat there quietly at her seat, listening to everything the teacher taught at the blackboard and would politely give me her sweet smile once in a while whenever she caught me staring at her. The teacher seemed to be at ease with her around and doesn’t really acknowledge her much, and treated the class just like any other class in school. I suppose it’s because her lack of English speech capacity that the teachers never called her to answer questions or read from the text, and no one else seemed to mind singling her out.

I still maintained as the closest friend—her only friend, in fact—and we find ourselves spending a lot of time together. We ate lunch together at my favourite spot under the tree when I was the one who always give her my share of the lunch (she never seem to eat anything), and be her translator whenever the situation requires it. She was not an active person in sports, but she was an avid supporter whenever we have PE as she sat beside to cheer us on. In other words, we were the best of friends.

One day before her exchange student program ended, she decided to have a camp party at school to thank us who had been nice to her and show us how school tradition was in her country. She came up with a theme called “Hyaku Monogatari” or “100th Ghost Story Camp Party” and invited the entire class to join in. She even encouraged us to bring relatives and friends along to the party so that our numbers add up to 100. We were required to bring a candle each and have our camp party in the school hall where it can accommodate everyone in it and warned us not to let the teachers know about it. Rebellious as we were, we promised to do everything she requested. That night, we were all there with our candles, sleeping bags and tidbits, anxious to start off the camp party. After having a tidbit feast and toasting to Kyoko’s safe journey back to Japan, we started with our theme.

Kyoko told us that in Japan, this was a taboo camp party where 100 people gather around in a dark room with only a candle each and tell each other their personal ghostly experience, and every time a person finishes his or her story, he or she must blow out their candle and this goes on until the last candle is blown. When we asked why was it taboo, Kyoko only gave us that mysterious smile and replied, "You'll see."

So we went along the game. I told about the story of my experience in the Borneo hotel and some told the tallest yet scariest tales I've ever heard. Some weren't even credible and some were just outrageously impossible and some weren't even sure that it was a real personal experience or not, but we didn't care. We had fun scaring each other silly and that counts for everything. The hall grew darker and darker as the candles continued to decrease. Finally, only one candle was left and we couldn't see each other's faces. The last person with the lit candle told a tale so scary and so horrifying that it would be better if I'm not reminded of it by telling you about it. Something to do about dismemberment and stuff.

After the person finished the tale and blew out the candle, one of us went to search for the hall lights. We were relieved when the hall was bright and less eerie again. We tried to find out who was the last person telling that horrifying tale but no one admitted telling it. That was when I realized Kyoko was gone. She wasn't around except her blown candle. I tried to look for her in vain, until something told me to go look out the window. I did just that, and soon saw Kyoko walking towards the school gate, but not before looking up towards me and waved goodbye. When she turned around, I thought I saw puncture wounds all over her back and blood all over her clothes! As I watched her step out of the school gate, one of my friends approached me and asked, "Hey, Steph. What are you looking at?"

"Kyoko," I replied. "She's right there, walking out of the school gate. She's leaving us."

"I don't see anyone."

I can tell you, the hairs at the back of my neck shot up like it was ten degrees below zero in that hall. The next day, our teacher came in the room and announced that the exchange student would not make it to our class because her car was being hijacked by a runaway robber and she was shot to death when she tried to escape and call for help on the day she was supposed to fly down here and report to our school. When my class monitor exclaimed that she was already here for almost half a month and had just left today, our teacher said that it was impossible because the day she was supposed to start her exchange student program _was_ today.

"But, miss, did you not see her hanging with Kingston? Did you not see us talking to Kyoko? She was sitting at the seat just right beside her. You must've seen her!"

"I assumed that you were just talking to Ms. Kingston. Honestly, that seat beside Ms. Kingston had been empty even before she came. And how did you know her name was Kyoko?"

Needless to say, the entire class started to scream and made a run for the door, much to the surprise of my teacher. I didn't do anything though. I just sat there and watched as the teacher tried to calm down this sudden mass hysteria. I somehow knew what was going on and was prepared for the worst. It still bugs me though as to how Kyoko's spirit managed to travel ahead of time to half a month before her supposed program date to be with us, and to leave us such a parting gift nonetheless.


	4. April Entry

**_April 20XX_ **

The school bazaar has finally arrived and we were really hyped about the plans of how to create the greatest bazaar ever. Our class decided to create a haunted house, but was met with utmost objection by our headmistress, along with other classes who had plans on creating game booths. She, of all people to become our headmistress, was born and raised in a Catholic family and taught in a Catholic school, was very conservative. She said something about game booths promoting gambling and haunted houses is bad for karma or something, like inviting 'unwanted guests'.

Needless to say, we were furious. We thought that her assumptions were crazy. What would a bazaar be without games and attractions? It's not all about selling food and drinks, you know. We were all out protesting, literally going out in front of the Headmistress's office and holding protest banners and all. I guess our teachers were so impressed by our passion to build our game booths and haunted house that they managed to persuade and convince their superiors that a little fun and game wouldn't hurt. All in all, the majority always wins. Our protest was a success and our plans were on the way.

We spent days to prepare for this. Everyone was assigned to a job in either being a ghost or a tour guide. Even friends from other classes who had nothing to do offered their help on creating our haunted house. We selected the old one-storey school building behind our new one as our haunted house destination. We were a little apprehensive about choosing that place because there were rumours saying that that old building itself is haunted due to neglect and misuse (it’s been standing there waiting to be demolished for goodness knows how long), but we were too enthusiastic about the bazaar to consider such petty nonsense. We got the dry grass and coconut leaves for the musty cemetery smell; cardboards and dark curtains from the science lab to darken the rooms and the tables and chairs propped up to make a maze out of it. We even designed posters and banners to be stuck all over school, drawn by yours truly, and made costumes for those playing the role of the ghosts. I had my own attire; I played the mad killer from 'I Know What You Did Last Summer' and all I need to wear was a windbreaker with a hood and fashion a hook out of a clothes hanger.

I can’t help it; I hate make-up.

Finally the day arrived. During the bazaar, our haunted house was a blast. There was a long line from the science lab all the way to our booth even before we had a chance to get started. My first shift was being the tour guide and as I led the petrified guests through the dark, eerie haunted house, I had to admit that I was rather scared myself. I kept warning that the tour guide is in front and not to scare the wrong person. I came across someone who was dressed in green with her wet-dog look and green slime all over her body and was rather impressed at how good the make-up she did on herself. She must've put a lot of effort to make it so realistic. I greeted her and continued my shift. When my shift came to be the ghost, I had my share of being yelled at, being slapped, bonked on the head, kicked, stepped on and goodness knows what sort of pain people can inflict on you when they're scared. Again, I saw the green girl occasionally appearing at the first and second room scaring the wits out of everyone. I waved and greeted her anytime I see her and wondered which class was she from, because she definitely wasn't one of my classmates or any other friend I know from other classes.

We had a great 2-day bazaar weekend. Our haunted house was a big hit. We were the best selling booth throughout the entire school and we really didn't want it to end. But all good things must come to an end somehow. On Monday, we started discussing excitedly about our best bazaar ever when one of my customers, who is also my friend, approached me and said, "Man, your haunted house was the bomb! You so gotta do this next year!"

"Thanks," I replied. "So, was I scary or what? You were screaming your head off when I approached you."

"Oh, I wasn't frightened by you. Your character was old school. I was scared by someone else behind you. You know, very tall and all black until I can't see the face. Oh, and who's the girl in green? Man, she's the hit of your haunted house! I must congratulate her in person!"

My skin crawled at the mention of something tall and dark behind my back. Everyone swore no one played the role of the girl in green. No one from other classes either played that role. They claimed to have seen her but no one knew who she really was. That's when we all realized how true our Headmistress said about inviting 'unwanted guests'. Turned out that by creating such a life-like haunted house, we actually created an atmosphere for the 'unwanted guests' to live in and wander around being seen. The reason we weren't harmed was because 'they' thought we were one of 'them'. Many have seen other out-worldly stuff from our haunted house before and after the bazaar. Even people living in hostels of our neighbouring school claimed to have seen something white floating around inside our haunted house during the two day bazaar and the last person who saw it caught an almost fatal fever a few hours later. We realized that the girl in green could probably be one of the ‘others’ residing inside the old school building.

We were scared for a while and were glad we weren't harmed by any of those 'unwanted guests', and we learnt a valuable lesson on tampering with the spirit world. Although I am curious as to what the real identity of the girl in green really is.


	5. May Entry

**_May 20XX_ **

I think my power of sight is getting worse.

Since the incident with the exchange student and the haunted house in our bazaar, I’m beginning to have more frequent visitations from ‘the other side’.

It all started when my boyfriend and I were planning to go out on a drive-thru movie to watch that really hot-in-the-season flick “Evergreen of the Everglades”. He had to go purchase it weeks in advance because it was the long-awaited movie of the century and had to line for five hours before he finally got tickets for both of us. So needless to say, I made a call home to tell them I won’t be home for dinner and promising them for the umpteenth time that I will not stray away and go straight home after the movies. What can I say? I’m the only girl in the family. They have a little right to be a little overprotective.

He had to go for football practice, so I was at my favourite spot under the tree catching up on my reading while waiting for him to come and fetch me. Suddenly, I heard someone crying somewhere in at a distance. I went to investigate, following the cries and I saw a little girl at about 3 squatting under the boardwalk of the running track, crying and whimpering. I thought she was one of the kids belonging to one of the teachers in our school, so I walked towards her and asked, ‘Are you alright? Why are you crying?’

“My Mummy and Daddy… they… they didn’t come and pick me…” she sobbed, “I waited for so long but they never came… I was hurt… hurt so bad… and yet they didn’t come to save me…’

 _What cruel parents!_ I thought, _who do they think they are, leaving a little girl like this to fend for herself while they go gallivanting to goodness knows where doing goodness knows what?!_

She mentioned that she was hurt, so I asked, ‘You said you were hurt, can I help you?’

She didn’t answer.

“Can I help you with anything?” I repeated my question. “It’s alright. You can tell me anything. I have you know I’m rather good with children’s needs.”

            It was no joke. I used to have share of working as a babysitter earning $10 an hour to look after my neighbours’ kids, which included the troublesome Mrs. Rueben’s baby triplets _and_ her feisty five-year-old.

“You…can help…me…?” she whispered.

“Yes, anything. Just name it!”

The kid slowly looked up and asked, ‘Then…can you find… _MY EYES_?!’

I got the shock of my life at what I saw in front of me. She doesn’t have any eyes at all; she only had black, empty sockets that were so spookily hollow, and she was crying tears of blood! Her hands were stained red and most of the blood were running down her cheeks and dripping down her little white dress, and she stank of dead meat.

I ran for my dear life away from that ghastly girl but I could feel her chasing me. I could almost feel her hands reaching out and touching my shoulders and hear her crying right near my ears, smelling the foul stench of her breath as she cried, “MY _EYES_! MY _EYES_! YOU SAID YOU’LL HELP ME FIND _MY EYES_!!! YOU _PROMISED_!!!”

When I finally saw my boyfriend waiting for me outside the gate, I was so relieved. I turned around to see if the girl was still chasing me but she was no longer there. I couldn’t even answer when he asked me what happened because I was in critical shock. I couldn’t enjoy the movie and had huddled against my boyfriend all night, looking over my shoulder at the slightest sound, fearing that the little girl had come back, demanding for her eyes.

Needless to say, our date was a total mess and I couldn’t blame my boyfriend when he sent me home with a disappointed look on his face.

I finally learnt the truth about the girl after I asked an old-timer janitor who cleans the boardwalk every other day: Our school, before it became what it was, used to be an orphanage back in the late 60s-70s. She was one of the orphans there whom a novice monk who, unbeknownst to others, was a bit of a pedophile and a schizophrenic. He believed that the little girl was his lover in his past life and began to feel much attached to her, and even had relations with her. When she was finally being adopted and waiting for her foster parents to fetch her with a nun accompanying her, the jealous novice monk suddenly kidnapped her and hid her in his cottage deep in the forest and raped her every day, claiming that she is his wife and that she should not belong to anyone but him.

Finally, when she attempted to escape from him, he attacked her, digging her eyes out of her sockets. By the time the authorities along with her foster parents got there to arrest him, it was too late. She bled to death and before he hung at the gallows, his last words were “If I can’t have her, no one will. Not even God”, or something like that.

Do you think I have problems now?


	6. June Entry

**_June 20XX_ **

I’ve literally got fired and denied from every neighbourhood around me for my babysitting services. They would not want to have me associate with them or their children ever again.

I can’t help it if I just recently ended up becoming a magnet for all those ‘unwanted visitors’ around me.

Why, three weeks ago, I was walking Mrs. Rueben’s son Micah home from school when I noticed a black-robed man handing me a brochure of some sort before walking away silently. When I looked at the brochure we were—or to be more exact, Micah was—thrilled to see that a carnival was going to be held at the recently burnt-down building downtown which used to be one of the most successful stock broker businesses in the state. I remembered about the fire back then. It was nasty, I tell you! Fire burning, people screaming and running, trying to escape. I was there among the crowd to see the firemen trying to douse out the flames in vain, and due to the faulty fire escapes and lack of fire safety precautions, 90 percent of the workers there were trapped and burnt alive. I heard that it was because the owner of the company finally went down on his luck when he lost almost half of his fortune during the stock market pitfall, and coupled with his only daughter’s suicide over a broken relationship, he went mad and decided to commit suicide in his own building by committing arson.

Anyway, we were so happy and psyched about the opening of the carnival that I didn’t know what was ahead. The next day, after school, I picked Micah up as promised and took him and the triplets and dashed to the carnival straight away, for Micah didn’t want to miss even one single event in store there. I left the triplets in the care of people at a daycare centre within the carnival and we tried everything; from the merry-go-round to the Ferris Wheel to the roller-coaster to the horseback ride, etc etc… everything! We have had such a good time that we lost track of time. When Micah finally had his fill, I bought him ice-cream and picked the triplets up from the daycare centre. We were about to leave when we bumped into Mrs. Rueben.

“Micah! Where have you been? I have been looking for you everywhere!” she looked genuinely worried, and looked at me as if I had kidnapped her children or something.

“Mom! Did you see me? I was having so much fun! That carnival was way cool! I gotta come here again! Please, Mom, can I?”

“Carnival? What carnival? I don’t see any carnival!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Rueben, I took really good care of them. You should see what they have in store…” I turned around to point out the carnival but what I saw was beyond belief. Instead of the bright, cheery and bubbly carnival filled with screams of excitement and peals of laughter, there stood the black, sooty old building, burned down to smithereens. Rubble and debris piled everywhere around the vicinity. The ground beneath it was also black with burnt soot. It was so eerie-looking, that I couldn’t believe that it was the carnival I just went. Even Micah was shocked to see the sudden change.

“You mean to tell me that this burnt-down house is a carnival?!” Mrs. Rueben exclaimed. “What kind of sick joke are you pulling here, young lady?”

“But, Mom!” Micah protested, “It was a carnival just now! We were here just now! Look! Steph even bought me one of their ice-cream!” he held out my ice-cream and both Mrs. Rueben and Micah screamed, for what he was holding was actually a batch of rotten flesh stuck onto a wooden stick, and that we realized the triplets’ clothes were covered with black sooty handprints. She grabbed me by the collar and dragged me all the way home and made such a scene about scaring and corrupting her children and it took all of Mom’s willpower and persuasion to keep her from reporting me to the police. After being shouted at from across the hall by Mrs. Rueben to never, ever come near her kids again, I was given a stern warning by my parents not to speak of that carnival nonsense ever again, plus half of my allowance cut as punishment.

That wasn’t the worse part.

Two week ago, I received a call from Mrs. Templeton to babysit her daughter Teresa while she and her husband went out for a company dinner. I did the usual feeding, bathing, watching TV, reading a bedtime story to her and tucking her to bed before I went back downstairs to do my homework while waiting for the Templeton-s to come home. An hour later, Teresa woke up and came to me. She said she thought I was calling her. I told her I didn’t and tucked her back into bed. Another hour later, Teresa woke up again and said someone was calling her name. I told her she was dreaming and as I tucked her back to bed, I, too, suddenly hear a faint voice calling out for the little girl.

“Teresa…Teresa…”

I turned to look and was horrified to see that the voice was coming from her closet! I asked what she kept in that closet, she told me she kept most of her clothes and shoes, and also a doll she stopped playing with long time ago.

Telling her to stay in bed, I walked over tentatively towards the closet and reached for the doorknob. I was not prepared for what was in store in front of me: A pair of sad, old-looking eyes brimming with tears with a face of cracked porcelain and dress torn beyond recognition stared back at me, with the rest of the body cracking as it moved towards me. It was the doll Teresa had mentioned, standing right there in the middle of the dark closet which was as tall as Teresa, with hair so long it formed a carpet along the floors of the closet. It moved slowly and steadily towards Teresa who was screaming and cowering at her bed, crying as it reached its hand towards her.

“ _How could you…_ ” the doll cried. “ _How could you throw me in here and forget about me…? I grew up with you…How could you…?_ ”

Adrenaline kicked in and replaced my shock as I heard Teresa screaming in her tears. I quickly picked the doll up and threw it back into the closet, slamming the door shut and putting my weight against it to prevent it from coming out. It banged at the door and wailed a cry like those banshees you see on TV, screaming “How could you” over and over again. After what seemed like forever, it stopped and when I opened the closet door to investigate, the doll was gone, dress, hair and all.

It goes without saying when I landed myself into another trouble when Teresa cried in her parents’ arms and simply REFUSED to sleep in her room for the rest of her life (well, that’s what she said) and I was accused of telling scary stories to Teresa and gave her nightmares when Teresa and I told them otherwise. Again, they made a big fuss with my parents and I was again denied allowance for two months solid.

But even that wasn’t the worse part.

Just a week ago, Mr. Carlson—single father and a travelling salesman—called me to look after his son Barry while he went out to one of his usual jobs. Barry wanted to go catch fireflies so that he could sell it to his fellow classmates at school. It thought it was cute for a kid his age to start earning money like his father, and it was a good way to get my mind off Mrs. Rueben’s case, so I agreed to take him out to go firefly-catching. He said the denser and darker the forest, the more fireflies there is, so I took him to the best forest I could come up with, which was located behind the town cemetery, and of course, I made sure we went there at broad daylight. Once we were inside, we immediately saw bluish little lights surrounding the trees as we moved in deeper. We were ready with our nets and Barry was so happy at his luck and his future fortune.

I made the first catch and when I checked my net to see how much fireflies I’ve caught, I was met with an eerie glowing face of a cat! It was smiling creepily at me like a Cheshire Cat would, only much scarier than that. I screamed and threw away my net. Barry responded the same when he caught a glowing face of a rat in his net. Suddenly, without warning, there were more and more of those ‘fireflies’ appearing out of nowhere, and I realized they were actually popping out from branches of trees and raining on us like dropping missiles. One of them dropped onto Barry’s arm and scalded him badly, and some of them were not glowing faces of animals, but of people! I picked Barry up in my arms and quickly made a run for it, took him to the hospital to be treated and end up being accused by Mr. Carlson for abuse.

This time, he really took it to the authorities and wanted the police to put me behind bars, and simply REFUSED to listen to my explanation and REFUSED to believe Barry’s story, saying that I made him told that wild story just to cover up my mistakes, and even though the doctors confirmed that the scalding of Barry’s arm was not caused by my doing, that perhaps it was caused by something other than abuse, he still insisted that I get arrested, to the point where he himself was throwing tantrums like a little kid. The police, after reading the doctor’s report, decided to let me off the hook, but my parents did not. They told me never to baby-sit again and grounded me for the rest of the month.

And that was before I found out that the forest behind the town cemetery was a place where children bring their dead pets to be buried, thus known by the kids around the neighbourhood as ‘Pet Cemetery Forest’, and way back before both the pet cemetery and the town cemetery, the forest used be a place where they bury convicts after hanging them in the gallows. The possible reason for this phenomenon is probably because, as I read in the book of supernatural incidences, was that the trees has fed off from the decomposed minerals of the bodies buried six feet under and at the same time, absorbed their souls as well, resulting into them falling down like fruit when they “ripen”.

How the hell am I supposed to deal with this? It’s not fair! I wasn’t the one at fault here! It’s those ‘things’! They keep showing up wherever I go and whatever I do, other people end up getting dragged into the mess!

It’s…just not fair…


	7. July Entry

**_July 20XX_ **

My mother’s cousin Uncle Bernard just moved home and we were invited to his housewarming party at his new home. It’s been a while since I last saw him though. The food was good, the music was great, the chit-chat and get-together brought back many childhood memories, but we soon really bored of all our after-dinner chit-chat and rendezvous. We were suggesting to each other what are we suppose to pass our time when Uncle Bernard suggested a game of ‘Dark Tag’ which was very popular back during his days.

If you don’t know the game ‘Dark Tag’, I don’t blame you. It’s really old-school whereby the game of hide-and-seek was played in the dark and the ‘Catcher’ had to find everybody throughout the pitch-black darkness. If the ‘Catcher’ has got everyone, he or she must gather them to one spot and count their heads to see if everyone is there. I didn’t think it was a good idea, that this game was lame and for old-timers, but seeing the nostalgic faces of all the adults, I had no choice but to fake a smile and nodded in agreement.

After all said and done, we drew straws to see who will be the ‘Catcher’. I, unfortunately, am the one. When I started counting to 10, everyone’s footsteps were pitter-pattering about, obviously looking for a place to hide. Finally I finished counting and started looking.

I found my brothers first. They were so predictable; they were always together no matter where they went and hiding was of no exception. It’s a wonder that they were born 3 years apart and not as twins. Then I found Uncle Bernard trying to pull it off as a lamp by putting the lamp cover over his head and standing still. I couldn’t help laughing seeing him do that. Even at his age, he still manages to clown around. And then I found his two sons who were hiding behind a trunk at the storeroom. I gathered them at the stairs and went on searching.

When I went up to the attic to see if my ‘victims’ can be found there, I noticed an outline of a girl crouching down at the very end of the attic behind a whole pile of junk. I yelled “Found you!” and pulled her up. She giggled as I half-dragged her to the staircase where I gathered the other 3. She didn’t look like someone I knew, so I asked her, assuming she was one of Uncle Bernard’s family friends, “What’s your name?”

She replied, “Jessie Night.”

Finally, after much effort, I gathered everybody. I counted them in the dark by touching their heads.

“10, 11, 12, 13! 13 of you! Hah, good, I’ve got everyone of you!” I exclaimed in delight. Suddenly everyone was eerily silent, looking at me like whatever I just said was not funny at all. “What? What is it? Why are you all so silent? What did I say?”

“Are you sure you didn’t accidentally counted yourself? Because excluding you, there are only 12 of us,” Uncle Bernard said uneasily.

“Of course I’m sure! I’ve counted everybody, including Jessie Night!”

Suddenly his wife let out a silent scream and moved to the fireplace in a hurry, influencing concerned guests to do so. I was puzzled. What did I do wrong this time? My uncle took me aside and said, “Steph dear, you’d better be sure about what you said. You know how your aunt feels about telling lies…”

“I swear I’m telling the truth! I saw that Jessie girl and I brought her to the gathering spot with you guys, although her arm does feel a little chilly. Didn’t you see her? She was sitting right behind you guys!”

“I don’t know where you heard that name from, but I want you to forget it. Jessie Night was the daughter of the previous owner of this house. She was also playing hide-and-seek with her friends in the dark and she slipped and fell down from the attic window when she was looking for a place to hide and broke her neck. She died on that very spot.”

“But I’m telling the truth…”

“Honey, stop it. Your aunt had already had a hard time trying to forget the fact that the realtor who sold us this house skipped out on telling us this minor detail. I don’t want you bringing it up again,” Uncle Bernard warned, making his way to the fireplace to comfort my aunt, then turned back to me and said, “I don’t know what sick joke you’re trying to pull here. Your mother was right about you having problems. You need help. _Real_ help.”

Now how unfair was that?


	8. August Entry

**_August 20XX_ **

We just moved in to this suburban area named ‘Dream Fantasia County’. My parents, after my rather unsettling hubbub these few months, decided to move away from our old place into a new environment where we can start anew. Arrangements were made with my school to transfer to the new one near my suburban home, and I told my boyfriend my new address. We even have issued a change of address to the shrink I go almost regularly every two weeks, although I don’t know what difference would it make if I continue seeing him. Not that he would ever believe my stories anyway. No one listens. No one ever listens.

You’re the only one I’ve got who truly, truly believes me and never questions them.

Anyways, I like the house that we’re living in. It was a lovely house really; a double-storey house with a very exotic air lingering around. The best of it all is that it has a swing in the backyard that I could have all to myself, coz my brothers thought it was just too childish for them to be playing with it. Somehow, the swing brought back a lot of childhood memories and I feel a sort of connection towards it.

I was so thrilled with the swing that I played with it every single day after school. I would do my homework or school projects right by the side of the swing sometimes so that once I’m done, I could play with it. I spent most of my time at the backyard; even more time than I should be in my room. I had to be forced back in the house, or else I might just spend the night out there. My father threatened to dismantle it once in a while but I shot him back a dirty look, telling him that he’ll be sorry if he ever does that, period. My mother wasn’t complaining too much about it; she thought at least I was spending more time at home than “creating trouble” outside like I used to.

One day, as I rushed back home to enjoy my swing, I noticed a boy about my age sitting on it. His eyes were sort of blank, like looking straight ahead like that of a blind person. I assumed that he was until he looked up and greeted me. At first I wanted to scream at him for breaking into our home and yell at him to get the hell off my swing, but his smile and his silent nature somehow melted my heart and I made friends with him immediately.

We began spending most of our time at the swing. He seemed to be an upright kid with clean cut hair and innocent looks, and though he never spoke, his eyes danced vibrantly and sent out every word he wished to say. Somehow I seemed to understand what he wants to say even before he thought of it. I would show him my collections of buttons I have throughout the years, shared secrets, told him about you and all that. My stomach fluttered like there were butterflies in it and my cheeks would gain colour as my heart beat faster whenever I am near him. It was like having a secret friend. A friend you never had.

Slowly, the swing became an obsession. Sometimes I refused to go inside the house for fear that the boy would walk away and I’ll never see him again. My parents had enough of me and grounded me in my room. From my room, I could see the boy sitting on the swing waiting for me. I wanted so badly to go out there and play with him, but they even paid my brothers to guard me. The shrink personally came to my home to counsel me, but I didn’t feel like telling him my secret friend. I could go a day without talking to him, just staring out at the window ignoring everything he said as I looked longingly at the swing.

Finally one night, I heard the boy calling out my name. That was the first time I ever heard him speak. My door opened by itself and soon, I found myself in the backyard, the boy smiling at me on the swing. I ran to him and we played until at last I felt myself soaring in the air. Then, everything went black.

When I woke up, I found myself lying on bed with my family, our family doctor and my shrink at my bedside. My head was bandaged and I couldn’t move. When he finished checking on my condition, he took my worried family and the shrink aside, but I could hear what he was saying. He said that I should really go get professional help, maybe even get myself medicated for my weird psychological behaviour and my suicidal tendencies, or maybe even consider getting committed to a home. The shrink made a few arrangements to try and give me more counseling before resorting into that sort of thing.

How could they think I was suicidal? I didn’t want to commit suicide! I’m not that stupid! I just went out to play with my secret friend, that’s all! Unless…

While recovering, I surfed through the internet to find out about the history of the house we were living in. I hacked into the realtor records and found out that my secret friend, whose name was Frederick Clements, was the son of the previous owner. He broke his skull when he accidentally fell off the swing that was at my backyard. He was a very lonely boy with workaholic parents, and it took three days for the neighbours to smell and find his rotting body at the backyard, and it actually took a week for the parents to come back to claim the body. The boy obviously wanted to take my life so that I can be his friend for eternity. They had hired a priest to cleanse the house, but it was obvious that he had failed. I also learnt from the internet that there are certain souls that are unable to be cleansed or exorcised due to the strong aura and attachment he/she had towards a place when he/she was still alive.

As soon as I found out about all this, I found him standing right beside my window looking at me sadly. His eyes were brimming with tears, seemingly very apologetic and didn’t mean to kill me. He just wanted a friend. He just didn’t want to be alone. My heart was overwhelmed with pity and I hugged him, saying that even though I do not wish to die just yet, I would never leave him alone. In fact, I told him I wanted to be more than just a friend as I gave him a kiss.

Right now, as I am writing this, I am with him, sitting on a bed at a secluded corner in a daily home for the homeless. The night I shared the kiss with Frederick was the night I ran away with him, bringing only you the journal along, my faithful companion, and living off soup kitchens and scrounging up anything I could wear to keep myself warm and fed. I don’t mind really. In fact, I like this life. It’s about time I look out for myself.

All I need to do is avoid being found and I’ll be fine.

No biggie.


	9. September Entry

**_September 20XX_ **

            Seems like my life as a bum proved to be another burden to others these days.

            Why do I say that?

            Because again, due to my supernatural tendencies, I have unwillingly unlocked another gate to the ‘other side’.

            Life with Frederick was fine. Easy-peasy. I only need to feed and clothe myself and entertain only his emotional needs, which were not many. All I need to do is shower him with a little love and attention, and the occasional visits to the park to play swing with him and be the best friend and lover he ever had was all it took to keep him happy. Playing swing at the dead of the night was the best where the world seemed to be ours and no one would ever bother us.

            Just a few weeks ago, I volunteered to become a member in a daycare unit under the homeless shelter in exchange for decent meals and a nice change of clothes. Homeless people came in with their children to let me look after, and as payment, I get a warm bed to sleep in with my Frederick and I get fed well.

            Life in the shelter was fine.

            Until I heard the recent rumours.

            Though not very noticeable, there had been a rather disturbing string of disappearance among our occupants in the shelter. Some of our regulars stopped showing up, and some of our long-time residents plus a few workers have gone without a trace. Some say that the bums have reverted back to the life of scrounging around the streets and that the disappeared workers had left without giving their two-weeks notice possibly because they couldn’t handle the tough life.

            I was thinking the same thing as well; until I heard an urban legend that began to spread among the little kids in daycare about what could possibly be the reason for this mysterious disappearance.

            It turns out that there was a haunted flight of stairs that led towards the balcony of the shelter. By day, you will see that there are only 12 steps, but by night, there will be 13 steps, and it’s usually only visible to bad people. Whosoever goes up that flight of stairs and lands his/her foot on the 13th step, he/she would find him/herself standing in a roomful of blood and will drown forever in their sins, never to return for eternity.

            I decided to give the urban legend a try. After making sure all the kids are taking their nap, Frederick and I went up to the said flight of stairs that led to the balcony. The door towards the balcony was sealed due to a faulty lock and no one can go up to the attic unless you bring a bulldozer to ram the door open. The flight of stairs looked innocent enough, but Frederick’s face told me otherwise. I assured him that I will be alright as I counted the steps up towards the balcony.

            “9, 10, 11, 12! 12 steps. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I commented. I double-checked again as I went down the stairs and still, it registered 12 steps.

            It really didn’t seem out of the ordinary. Everything was fine and dandy. But the troubled look on Frederick as he looked up the flight of stairs reminded me that sometimes, nothing is what it seems. I have to keep a lookout just in case.

            For the next few days, the disappearance phenomenon continued. When the supervisor and head honcho of the homeless shelter Mr. Trent disappeared, everyone started to become concerned. They called in the police to investigate this matter (I had to keep a low profile so as not to let the police recognize me if my parents ever made a missing person report) but there was not enough leads to go for. Lesser and lesser bums came in for fear of being the next victim and I was soon running out of kids to look after. I wanted to leave since I was no longer needed, but Frederick persuaded me to stay and investigate this matter on, saying that since there is nothing humanly possible to be done, it had to be something else.

            I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t love Frederick so much.

            I decided to check on the missing people’s background to try and figure out if anything in their past had to do with their disappearance. The shelter was very systematic and required the bums and the workers to fill out an application form before entitling them to regular or permanent stays and to work, and it turns out that they had rather tainted past ranging from armed robbery, minor arson, breaking and entering, and Mr. Trent, the so-called esteemed saint of the shelter, used to be a notorious assaulter who had spent most of his youth in jail and anger management programs for his outbursts. Seeing their records reminded me of the urban legend the kids used to tell me.

            _It is only visible to bad people…_

            I knew then that it had to do with the fabled 13th balcony steps. I quickly asked Martin—an old shelter volunteer worker who looked like he had been in here since the dawn of time—about the history of this shelter. He didn’t want to say anything at first, but after my persistent persuasion, he told me that before this place was turned into a shelter for the homeless, it used to be a juvenile centre. He and his band of misfits use to do time for gang assault and other crimes such as petty robberies, playing truant and collecting protection money from people. He showed me a picture of him and his band of misfits and I could tell from their trademark leather jackets, half-torn jeans, smokes, motorcycles and that crazy 60’s, 70’s bad boy hairstyle that if they were still able, they might just wreck havoc throughout the streets like the good old days.

            Life in juvie was tough when you have wardens that whack you with belts and iron rods whenever they feel like it, and instead of rehabilitating you, they torture and abuse you physically, mentally and sexually. He and his band of misfits had their share of being sodomized by the wardens once too often.

            One day, his leader Jazz (he pointed at a burly-looking man with a huge scar across his face) decided that enough was enough and decided to fight back so that no one had to suffer the same fate as they did. He aided all the juvies to escape and stayed back to douse the centre with kerosene and burn it. He was caught red-handed and while attempting to escape to the balcony, he slipped and fell, broke his skull and died instantaneously. By then, the centre was found of its dirty deeds and was shut down by the government before Mr. Trent bought it and reopened its doors to the homeless.

            After hearing his story, I begin to wonder if this could be the possible cause of the recent disappearance. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw an old bum talking to a man who was dressed in a leather jacket and half torn jeans and had the 60’s, 70’s bad boy hairstyle. I nudged a volunteer, asking who that old man was talking to and he told me to ignore him because ever since the old bum came home from war, his mind often went somewhere else and would be seen talking to himself. I wanted to ask if he saw the man the old bum he was talking to, but as the man turned to glare warningly at me, I saw a huge scar just across his face, just as Martin showed me in his picture!

            I have finally found out the culprit behind the whole thing. It was Jazz, the leader of Martin’s band of misfits, all along! I wanted to tell somebody, but who would believe me? If I start a scene, there’s a possibility that one of them recognize me and report to the police and take me back to my family. I don’t want that. They’ve already considered me a problem child. They’ve already thought of me as crazy and suicidal. To go back there was not an option I’d like to make.

            It was up to me to save the old bum.

            Later that night, after making sure everyone was fed and well covered in sufficient blankets, I saw the old bum following behind the man, chattering merrily but silently so as not to wake anyone else. I followed behind him and as expected, he was led to the fabled 13th balcony steps, and it seemed like the old bum knew of the urban legend, judging by his shocked face. Jazz persuaded him to go up and told him not to be afraid of such superstitions, and as they went up, Jazz told him about the history behind the steps. I hid out of sight so as not to alert them and counted the steps they were going up.

            “10, 11, 12…13…?!”

            I almost gasped out loud as I saw that the urban legend was more than just exaggerated truth! It was real! The old bum was struggling not to take that last step and Jazz began to reveal his true self. Half of his head was gone and he was bleeding from head to toe as he laughed maniacally, pushing him forcefully into a portal that appeared in middle of the 13th step. A river of blood poured out of the portal onto the rest of the steps and I could hear moaning, screaming and gurgling, like the sounds of someone struggling to stay afloat in water. From my point of view, I could make out a few people—or spirits, in their case—bobbing up and down, trying to get away from the murky crimson that surrounded them till no end.

            Frederick and I made a mad dash up towards the steps and grabbed hold onto the old bum, trying to pull him out and rescue him from the hands of Jazz. Other spirits swam towards the man to help him pull the old bum back in. A tug-of-war ensued between us and the spirits of the 13th step.

            “He’s mine!” Jazz growled. “He belongs to me now!”

            “He belongs to no one!” I shouted back. “Keep your bloody hands off him!”

            “Did you know what he did? He deserves to be here for killing so many innocent people back in the war! He’s coming with me!”

            “Everyone makes mistakes! Everyone deserves a second chance! You have no right to say who does or does not deserve anything!”

            “What do you know? You’re just a mere mortal! Let him go! He’s coming with me!”

            “Never!”

            The old bum screamed in pain as he felt us tugging at him at either end, crying and confessing all his sins he had did back in the war and that he never meant to do any of those things. He screamed for mercy, for Jazz to spare his life. I tried as much as I could to hold on to the old bum and pull him out of that hellhole but two people against a bunch of spirits was really wearing me out.

            In the end, Jazz growled in exasperation and said, “I’m tired of these games! You want him so much, you got him! But I’m not leaving empty-handed!”

            So saying, I heard the worse tearing sound I’ve ever heard in my life. Jazz, with brute force and along with the other spirits that aided him, pulled so hard at the old bum’s waist that he was split in two, and we both fell backwards with the top half of the old bum squashing us. Jazz laughed and shut the portal, the river of blood flowing backwards into the portal with it, leaving the flight of steps with only the trail of blood from the horrific mutilation. To say that it was as if nothing had happened was not the right choice of words when I was left with the bloody half of the old bum’s body at my feet, his face frozen in a silent scream of death and his entrails all over the place.

            I knew I had to leave.

            Needless to say, news about the old bum’s death at the balcony steps became the headline of every newspaper, and police are trying to find the killer and me, the suspect of this crime. No one could get into hotter soup than this. At least I remembered to bring along my application form and my other records before I left, or else the police would be on my trail now and I’d end up in the 10 Most Wanted List.

            The only thing I can do right now is scrounge up some dough so that I can take the train to anywhere further from here.


	10. October Entry

**_October 20XX_ **

            Fate is cruel.

            Fate often liked to play tricks on people, and there’s no escaping it.

            No matter how far you run or how fast you go or how you try to forget it, it always has a way of creeping up to you.

            My fate is to be a bridge between the living and the dead.

            And no matter how many times I tear that bridge down, it manages to rebuild itself.

            As my power of sight and my tendencies to unlock ‘doors’ grew, so was the hostility of the ‘things’ around me. Frederick was by far the closest and dearest spirit that had ever been, and I trust him with all my heart. But the ‘others’ were not so nice.

            Just the other day, when I was playing the swing with him, I met one of ‘them’. At first I didn’t know she was a spirit. I assumed she was just one of those girls who liked to hang out in the playground at the dead of the night like us.

            She was very beautiful for a child, with her strawberry blonde hair running down her shoulders and her bangs arranged decoratively across her forehead. She was wearing a very fluffy dress with frills and ribbons and embroidered flowers everywhere. She almost looked like one of those kids who dressed up real nice to go trick-or-treating during this festive Halloween season.

            Come to think of it, it feels almost like yesterday since I last celebrated Halloween.

            As I was saying, she was standing there a few feet away from me, looking all pretty under the moonlight. She smiled at me and asked, “Excuse me, where is the merry-go-round?”

            “Oh, just right there…”

            Before I finished my sentence, I saw her already at the merry-go-round playing with herself, going round and round and round. I didn’t think it weird at first, but as I turned to continue my swing game with Frederick, she appeared closer behind me without warning and asked, “Excuse me, where is the monkey bars?”

            I was taken aback. How did she get here so fast? Again, I didn’t think much of it and replied, “Oh, right beside there…”

            And again, before I could finish my sentence, she was already there, climbing up the bars back and forth, to and fro. Frederick had a rather horrifying look on his face and his eyes urged me to take leave immediately. By then, I knew something was wrong, and I knew better than to ignore Frederick’s warning. I was about to take leave when all of a sudden, the girl appeared again, this time much, much closer until I could feel her breath near my nape, asking, “Excuse me, where is the see-saw?”

            I had to think of something fast. I screamed the first thing that came into my head, “It’s right in the middle of the forest!”

            The girl gave me a look that told me that I have blown her cover. She smiled eerily, her grin creased from ear to ear—literally—and suddenly didn’t look like the beautiful little girl I first saw. Her face morphed into disgusting proportions and suddenly went on all fours, letting out an ear-piercing scream and crawled at top speed towards the forest that was behind the playground. It took me 5 minutes flat of staring blankly in shock at this phenomenon to actually let the entire bizarre scenario sink in before I quickly took Frederick’s hand and made a mad dash out of the playground, never looking back.

            I learnt from word of mouth that she was one of those naughty spirits of the forest that enjoyed a steady diet of human flesh, and would often play around with their victims before finally getting close enough to devour them. To her, flesh filled with fear tastes the best.

            That was just one of the many encounters I’ve came across as my “gift” continued to expand and level up without me even knowing it.

            There was another incident where I took to loitering and scrounging up food around school compounds (I must’ve lost like 10 pounds since I left home and eloped with Frederick) where I heard another urban legend at one school I stopped in. It turns out that if you call out Bloody Mary 3 times in front of the mirror of the girls’ locker room where she died, you will see her image and the image of your death beside her.

            When I asked about the truth behind Bloody Mary from a really nice cafeteria lady who often spared me some leftovers, she told me that Bloody Mary, when she was alive, used to be a pretty girl who was the object of everyone’s affection. Other girls got jealous of her when her beauty had unintentionally attracted their boyfriends to her and decided to humiliate her in any way possible. The last straw was when they assaulted her and cut her face badly with a penknife. Her beautiful face was left with dozens of scars and those who used to pursue her left her without a moment’s notice. The perpetrators walked off scott-free without any care in the world because some of them were from wealthy backgrounds and can afford to buy secrecy, and they continued to taunt her till no end. Finally, unable to take the pressure, Bloody Mary committed suicide in the girls’ locker room, and a week after her death, the girls who did her wrong also died under mysterious circumstances.

            Needless to say, when I managed to sneak into the girls’ locker room to shower and take a piss, I accidentally eavesdropped on a few teenagers who decided to flirt with danger and tried out the urban legend. I wanted to stop them but I didn’t want to risk breaking into the school and using school property.

            Soon, hiding behind a wall, I saw the girls stared in horror as Bloody Mary really appeared on the mirror. She looked like Samara from the movie ‘The Ring’, drenched in blood as she looked at them menacingly. There were three girls there and she revealed their death one by one. The first girl’s death was by strangulation, and the look on the girl’s face told me that the person strangling her could possibly be her boyfriend. The second girl’s death was by a freak accident where someone dropped a glass pane while trying to fix a window and it decapitated her clean and through. The third girl’s death was by drowning, whereby a burglar came in and raped her and stuffed her head into the bathtub to drown her.

            “Do you fear death? Do you wish to avoid this gruesome fate?”

            My head was screaming ‘No’ but the girls, horrified by the sight they saw, nodded desperately.

            “Then give me your _blood_!”

            Without warning, Bloody Mary’s hand shot out of the mirror and grabbed the second girl’s throat, and with one squeeze, decapitated her within seconds. Her blood sprayed all over, staining her clothes and the marble floor and all over her friends, before her headless body fell to the ground. The girls screamed and made a run for the door but it slammed shut and closed up tight, barring them from any escape. I told Frederick to wait for me behind the cafeteria, so I doubt he could hear them or me if I ever called for help. I crouched at one corner of the locker hoping that Bloody Mary could not find me. I could hear the girls’ echoing scream as they were scared shitless and met their doom. I wanted to help, but what can I do when I only have the power to see and unlock but not lock them back in?

            It felt like forever before the locker room was finally quiet. Trembling in fear, I crawled out of my hiding place and gasped in horror as I saw the girls dead in the same way as predicted by Bloody Mary, but by her standards. The first girl, who was supposed to die of strangulation by her boyfriend, was found with a shower head cord wrapped tightly around her neck and her face bluish-grey as the cord snuffed the life out of her. The third girl, who was supposed to die of drowning, had her head forced into the toilet bowl.

            I could feel the presence of Bloody Mary still lingering around. I could literally feel her watching me with her piercing eyes as my back was facing the mirrors. Without looking back, I asked, “Why do you do this?”

            “For fun,” she replied.

            “Fun? You kill people, for god sake! You call this fun?!”

            “I wouldn’t have done it without you.”

            “What?” I turned around, staring at Bloody Mary in disbelief.

            “I am cursed to be in this wretched mirror world for all eternity, for souls who commit suicide is eligible for neither heaven nor hell. I wanted those bitches who ruined my beautiful face to pay, to show them what it feels like to die a miserable death. I had my chance. Each and every one of them who came into this locker room met their doom in the most degrading way possible through the curse of my image they see in the mirror. They all got what they deserved, but it was not enough. There are still so many bitches in this world that needs to be punished.

            “For years, my soul has been trapped here in this mirror world, doing nothing but cursing people to their deaths. I longed for the glory days when I can satiate my blood lust, just like the way I did with those bitches. For years I wanted to just watch those people die in my grasp and feel the blood in my hands as they die the way I predicted them. For years I wanted to see, smell and taste their blood, just like I did when I killed those bitches who think they’re above the law. The stupid urban legend I made my final victim spread before she died was not enough. Cursing them to their death is just not satisfying enough. I need more! More blood! _More blood!_ ”

            “What does that have to do with me?” I asked. Frederick suddenly came out of the blue and held me in his arms. He must’ve felt something was wrong when I didn’t show up for so long.

            “You are the one who allowed me to reach out for the girl and had my first taste of sweet, luscious blood. I’ve felt your presence and your power and it gave me strength since the day you showed up here to beg for food. It was only a matter of time before you’d come in here and those girls show up to try out the urban legend. You are the one who freed me from my confinement in this mirror world and use my powers to the fullest. Now I am _invincible_!!!”

            So saying, her image began to fill up every reflective object possible around us: from the entire row of mirrors to the metallic lockers to the window panes all the way even to the glossy shower walls. Her laughter filled the entire locker room and everything moved at its own accord. The shower heads suddenly burst out water, the locker doors opened and shut, the lights flickered, the water faucets turned on, the door shook and rattled, and the benches began to levitate. She had really worked her powers to the fullest. Frederick held me protectively and glared at all the Bloody Mary-s, daring them to harm me.

            “Oh, I won’t do anything to your lover, boy,” the Bloody Mary-s chuckled as they opened the door for us. “I’m not like some people who are ungrateful. But you better take her away now before I change my mind. Happy Halloween!”

            Bloody Mary’s maniacal laughter was the last thing we heard as Frederick quickly dragged me out of the school and into the darkness of Halloween night.

            It was no surprise when the girls’ death made the headlines.

            Another product of my unlocking powers.

            ………

            I feel as if I had committed the worse crime ever.

            ………

            Is there nothing I can do to escape my fate?

            Not even the slightest possibility?

            What should I do?


	11. November Entry

**_November 20XX_ **

            I saw Death.

            No, seriously, I saw Death.

            And he is not exactly as bad as people often imagine him to be.

            Let me just start from the beginning…

            It’s November, and the cold weather is giving me a bout of flu. Runny nose, high temperature, mild cough, the usual. I can’t remember the last time I got sick, but being sick really bites. I heard from my fellow bums that there is a volunteer hospice that allows bums to get free medical treatment, so I decided to try my luck there.

            Once I was there, I saw there were tons of bums waiting to seek medical care. I thought I was going to wait a long time for their services but they were quick, efficient and prompt. The volunteer nurses and doctor took really good care of me, checking me and issuing me some medicine. Because of my fever, they required me to stay in the hospice for a while just until I regain normal temperature. It’s been a while since I had lain on a decent bed, so I took their advice and stayed.

            It was then I saw Death.

            I was feeling thirsty one late midnight and as I got myself a glass of water from the hospice canteen, I saw him sitting on a bench reading MAD magazines and grinning at the corny jokes and comic strips on every page. He was a teen no older than 15, had wild, jet-black hair and very fair skin. He had odd eyes, one red and one green, and was dressed in all black, from his turtleneck long-sleeved shirt to his long pants to his leather boots. I thought he was one of the young volunteers who worked in the hospice, so I just flashed him a nice smile, drank my water and went back to bed. I noticed him giving me a rather surprised look, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.

            I had a steady diet of witnessing spirits walking around in the hospice, but seeing that they were just looming around minding their own business and not harming anybody, and since Frederick didn’t seem give me any warning looks, I slowly got used to it and left them to their own devices. I also had my share of witnessing people dying in the hospice, especially those who are too old or terminally ill. I was sad to see their lives ended without their loved ones around them to say goodbye, but at the same time, I was glad that they have finally come to end of their misery.

            Soon I realized that there was a connection between the spirits that wandered around and the deaths in the hospice. Every time I see a spirit wandering, the next few days someone would die. One day, I saw a spirit hanging about at the backyard of the hospice staring at space, and two days later, one of the bums at the terminally ill ward dies, and he looked exactly like the spirit I saw at the backyard. I didn’t know what the connection was exactly.

            Until now.

            I saw him again one late midnight, munching on a sandwich, looking as if he was contemplating things. I couldn’t sleep after that incident with the spirit in the backyard and that bum’s death, so I sat beside him quietly and sipped my glass of water, pretending to mind my own business and ignoring him.

            “Rough night?”

            I turned to him, surprised that he would actually strike a conversation with a total stranger. Nevertheless, I decided to humour him, “Yeah. There’s been another death. It bothered me a little.”

            “You’ll get used to it in time. Just to let you know, they’re in good hands. I never lose a soul.”

            “What do you mean?” I wrinkled my nose, feeling a little weird out by his sudden mysterious attitude.

            “You can see me, right? Just as easily as you see the ‘others’?”

            I was dumbfounded. How does he know I have the gift of sight? Is he a spirit as well…?

            “The name’s Father Death a.k.a. Grim Reaper a.k.a. Angel of Death. Pleased to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand for me to shake. “I never get many friends these days. In fact, it’s been centuries since a living person last saw me. It’s nice to finally have someone to talk to.”

            I stared at the boy in disbelief. Him? A little kid like him being the Grim Reaper? He’s kidding, right?

            “Yeah right,” I snorted. “Pull another one.”

            He gave me a sideways look, sighed and suddenly, before my eyes, changed into the Grim Reaper that was ever familiar to everyone: a tall skeleton draped in a huge black cloak and hood and holding a huge big-ass scythe. He turned to me and flashed me that skeletal grin and asked, “Well? Do you believe me now?”

            I nodded. He nodded in response and changed back to the young boy I first saw him in.

            “I prefer this look. People seem to warm up better to youngsters’ look than my creepy old original self.”

            “I think your original look is fine,” I said, which was the truth. I’d prefer people to be true to themselves instead of running around pretending to be something they’re not.

            “Thank you. I see that you’ve been seeing ‘things’ around here.”

            I nodded in reply.

            “It’s sort of a gift I give them before I take them away. Let them have their last look on the world before taking the long journey towards the light. The spirits you saw are supposed to be dead on that particular day, but since I’m Father Death and all and since I have the power to lengthen or shorten their lives, I allow them to spend 3 days at most to dwell around earth and complete their unfinished business. And they all do it during their deep sleep where the spirit is most free to roam outside the body, that’s the reason why you see them around.”

            I nodded in understanding. Finally, the question that had been itching in my mind began to creep out of my mouth.

            “Grim, I mean, can I call you Grim?” I asked, and continued when he nodded, “What exactly am I?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, I can see ‘things’ as easily as I can see you. I’ve been having this power since I was a small kid, and everyone thinks I’ve got problems. Even when others have seen the same thing as I did, they refused to acknowledge or believe, accusing me of making up wild stories and influencing others to join in my madness. Creating trouble, mass hysteria, stuff like that. Some even think I’m crazy and suicidal. So what exactly am I?”

            Grim looked at me for a moment and replied quietly, “I cannot fully answer that, for every attribute you have belongs to another ‘department’. My job is just to claim your soul and send it to that ‘department’. You will have your answers there.”

            I pouted, disappointed. And I thought I would finally understand the purpose of my life and myself.

            “But,” Grim pointed out, “I can say one thing about you though: you are special, and meant to do great things. Unfortunately it is not in this lifetime.”

            “Wh…What does that suppose to mean?”

            “I know it’s going to sound harsh, but I am obliged to reveal the coming death of special people like you. Normally, I would only appear to people on the day of their death, but special people like you usually do not live long, so I have to warn you beforehand the moment you are able to see me.”

            “But…But if I were to do great things in my next life, wouldn’t that still make me special? Wouldn’t that make me having short life span as well?”

            “True, but the things you will do in your next life will be earth-bound, mortal and humanly-possible. Not the way you are right now. That’s all I can say.”

            “When will I die?” I asked after letting everything Grim said sink in my head.

            “That, unfortunately, I cannot tell. All I can say is soon.”

            “What becomes of Frederick?”

            “Unless your ghostly lover is willing to give up his earthly binds and join you, he will disappear into nothingness.”

            “Earthly binds?”

            “His unresolved matters with his parents.”

            “Then I guess I should better get started.”

            I finished my drink and got up. I whistled for Frederick to appear before me and he was rather shocked to see Grim beside me. He hid behind me and shivered. I calmed him down and said, “Don’t worry, Freddy. You’re not going to go with him just yet. We’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”

            “Where will you go next?” Grim asked.

            “I think you can pretty much guess where,” I replied as I held Frederick’s hand.

            “True,” Grim nodded, then flashed me a smile and said, “I’ll see you soon, aye?”

            “Aye,” I replied as I made my way towards the exit. I was about to wave goodbye to him but he was no longer at his seat. Guess he had other souls to attend to.

            Somehow, surprisingly, I feel a certain warmth in the depths of my heart after my heart-to-heart talk.

            And honestly, I look forward to see him again.


	12. December Entry

**_December 20XX_ **

            They are coming.

            They are coming for me.

            As I write this, I am now in an old abandoned construction site, trying to hide out of sight and buy some time before they come and take me away. Frederick is by my side but the only thing he could do now is console me and keep me company.

            I can hear the sirens blaring away.

            I recognize which siren belongs to which vehicle.

            There’s the police car siren. There’s the ambulance siren. And then there’s the psycho institution van siren.

            I can even hear my family car.

            They’re all out there, waiting for me to slip up and grab me.

            I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back.

            If I go back, they will make me wear a straight jacket. They will shove pills down my gut and stab me with syringes. They will give me useless therapies and counseling. They will give me the famous shock treatment. They will give me the confinement. They will force me to say things and admit to statements I don’t want to. They will make me “well” again, only that I am already sane to begin with and they are the ones who will drive me crazy.

            They don’t understand what it feels like to be special. To have the gift of sight. To have the power to unlock doors to the other side and helpless to close them back up. To be unable to do anything as you watch people die because of your unintentional actions.

            The day I met Frederick’s parents was the day I caused them to suffer. I went to visit them at their workplace, according to Frederick’s directions, and when I met them, I swore that it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever committed.

            They were uncompassionate, cold and overly money-minded. At first they thought I was there to blackmail them for something they did and was prepared to whip out their checkbook, but after hearing my story about meeting Frederick and asking for an answer as to why it took so long for them to come back to claim his body when the hospital had already called them about his death the day he was admitted into the morgue, they nonchalantly replied that they were busy and caught up with other affairs. They replied that business is business and should not be mixed with personal affairs.

            When I scolded them for being so cold-hearted they shouted back at me saying that this is a dog-eat-dog world, and one sign of weakness could bring down the entire business to ruins. The mother even admitted that Frederick was an unplanned thing, an unexpected result of a cocktail party, a mistake. They never wanted a child in the first place, and that they married because a merger between their companies was the next best thing to conquer the global market. They didn’t even have the decency to give him a proper burial. They just paid to the morgue to do whatever they want with him and his body was cut and dissected to donate his organs out.

            Frederick burst into tears and flew out of the office, unable to believe the words that came out of their mouths. I was angry. A fire of vengeance burned inside me. I could never forgive them for being so cold and distant, even in Frederick’s death. I stood and said in a cold tone “You will regret it” before leaving, calming Frederick and told him that he has me and that they don’t deserve such a nice person such as he. After much coaxing, he finally agreed to what I said and promised that he will follow me forever, to the ends of the earth if he has to.

            What I didn’t know was that as soon as I said those words to Frederick’s parents, my vengeful aura has unlocked an age-old seal that was put on an ancient sacrificial chamber which was located right under their workplace. According to what I’ve read in the tabloid news I got from the trashcan, in the past, before construction of the workplace building was made, they have discovered the tomb and hired a shaman to cleanse it and seal it in a way that the powers of the dead can be channeled to make business prosperous. As soon as I unlocked the seal and rendered it useless, business began to fail and within weeks, Frederick’s parents were driven into bankruptcy and had to sell off everything, including their house and any form of their properties to pay off the debts. The only thing that was left of them was the clothes on their backs.

            It was a matter of time before Frederick’s parents decided that I was the cause of all the trouble. They assumed that the last words I said was a threat and that I have figured out a way to get into the tomb to remove the seal and cursed them, or probably I had hired someone to sabotage their business, whichever sounds logical. In a way, it was my fault, but I never meant for this to happen. I was just telling them that one way or another, they will get their just desserts. I never meant this.

            They recognized my picture in one of the missing person’s notices on their notice board and immediately filed a police report against me. Soon my face was all over the newspapers, wanted as a suspect of company sabotage and possible multiple murders of the shelter home where I used to work and the school where I used to beg for food. I suspect it was the reward that betrayed their conscience. There was no longer a safe place I could hide. Everywhere was a possible dead giveaway to my identity. I had to resort to sneaking in the middle of the night to scrounge up any leftovers in restaurant kitchens and breaking into rest stops and convenient stores to steal food (busting the burglar alarm a few times in the process, but managed to escape in time).

            Now I know how the guy from the movie _The Fugitive_ felt like.

            My luck ran out sooner than I expected. I don’t know how my cover was blown. Was it because my face was caught on security camera when I was in one of my midnight convenient stores burglaries? Was I spotted by someone while crossing the street? Did I forget to keep a low profile when I went to churches to look for second-hand clothes? All I know is that one day I was minding my own business trying to look for the latest newspaper in the trashcan when suddenly I was approached by a bum who claims to be an undercover cop stalking me for a few days now. I didn’t believe him at first for most of the bums I know are nutty and would claim that they’re superman or something, but when he flashed his badge (which seemed genuine enough) at me, Frederick, before I even thought it, pushed a huge trashcan at him and took my hand and both of us made a run for it.

            And, after tiring efforts to outrun police cars and dodging police chases, I finally lost them and hid out here.

            I can hear cars stopping, and sirens blaring. Have they found out where I am?

            I have to finish whatever I need to say before they catch me.

            I don’t want to go.

            I don’t want to be caught.

            I hear voices. Are they here?

            No. Not yet. They’re still looking for me.

            I don’t want to go.

            My family hates me. My now ex-boyfriend thinks I’m a freak. I don’t have any real friends.

            Everyone thinks I got problems.

            I’m not a freak. I never wished for this power. I just wanted to be normal.

            I just want them to leave me alone so that I can live the rest of my days with Frederick.

            I just want to…

            I hear my parents’ voice calling for me. I hear my ex-boyfriend’s voice. I hear my brothers’ voice. I hear my dog’s bark.

            I hear the police, the ambulance workers, the people from the institute.

            No…No…No…

            I don’t want to go.

            Theirs is not the life I want to live. I’m fine on my own. I’ve never harmed anybody. I never meant to.

            You’re the only true friend I have, my dear journal. If anyone finds you, you will be the last thing that ever recorded the truth of my life.

            I don’t want to go.

            I don’t—

            _They’re here._


	13. Doctor' Entry

            To The CEOs of Federal Bureau Investigations and Criminal Investigation Agency,

            I, Doctor Gregory Gray, acting doctor and psychiatrist of St. Esther Institution for the Mentally and Criminally Insane, would like to produce my findings on Patient No. 180, Stephannie Wellsburg Kingston in this elaborate report. Enclosed with my report are pictures of said subject and of our sessions and tape recordings of conversations between the subject and I during our counseling hours.

            Stephannie Wellsburg Kingston, or Steph as her family calls her, came in on late December 20XX on a snowy winter’s night at around 10pm. Accompanying her was her family and arresting officer, Officer Daniel Pendleton of the State Police Department. My first observation of her state of mind was disoriented and panic-stricken. She was clutching at air, as if holding someone’s hand and was talking feverishly about not leaving her alone and always be with her. She clearly was not saying this to her accompanying party as her face was not directed to them. She did not seem to care that her family was looking at her worriedly and didn’t asked them to stay when they left her in my hands.

            My first interview with her was very fascinating. When I questioned her about her behaviour just now, she claimed to be holding onto the hand of her “ghost lover” whom she called Frederick. She even claimed that he was just right there, standing behind her watching me, glaring at me with anger and if I ever do her any harm, she cannot promise that he would not harm me. I told her that I would not even think of it, just to humour her.

            As they took her away to get her settled, I read her file given to me by her family doctor and her family psychiatrist. I have enclosed copies of their full report, but the long and short of it is that they described her as “anti-social, uncooperative, stubborn, overactive imagination, strong tendencies to lie and fabricate truths and suicidal” and required that she be closely monitored.

            She officially became the resident of the institute the following day after the trial on her regarding charges of double homicide and company sabotage on January 20XX. Though found guilty under insanity defense, she did not put up any struggle or resistance, as if she was accepting the fate bestowed upon her. She kept herself to herself and never associated herself with any of the inmates. She would often sit at one corner quietly, talking to her imaginary friend intimately and ignored everyone around her. She never posed as a threat to anyone, but somehow, the inmates were afraid of her and did not want to be with her. Neither of them dared to speak to her and rather have nothing to do with her. Even her roommate requested to change rooms as she felt as if Steph was going to kill her at any given moment, though Steph denied ever trying to threaten her roommate in any way. After numerous switches of roommates later, we’ve decided to isolate her and give a room all to herself so as not to further scare the other inmates. She often sat alone during meals and would eat her medicine quietly without protest. Sometimes she can be found up late at night talking to her imaginary friend.

            However, Steph was very uncooperative when it comes to therapy sessions. During group sessions, she refused to say a word and go for hours without talking to her counselors. She did not budge through any form of probing, bribes or sweet-talk, and even though she was punished into the time-out room or when the counselors got physical with her (those involved have already been suspended for mistreating patients), she refused to acknowledge their existence. We have tried family bonding to get her to loosen her tongue but to no avail. She just looked at them humorously and ignored them, continuing to pay more attention to her imaginary friend than them.

            Finally we resorted to a one-on-one session. She personally picked me to be her counselor and refused to cooperate with anyone else that was given to her. Like group therapy, she could go for long hours just staring at the counselor without saying a single word, until, in some occasions, the counselors themselves would be seen running out of the room, unable to handle the eerie aura she was giving them.

            One-on-one sessions with her was rather unnerving, but at the same time rather intriguing. She would flash me the sweetest smile and greet me polite and fully cooperate with me. I have asked her why she specifically wanted me, and she replied that she had this feeling that I would understand her better. I questioned her about her days away from her home and how does she feel about her own predicament. She quietly revealed a thin exercise book that serves as her journal for this whole year, which she had hidden under her shirt all along. I was surprised that I had never seen this notebook before when she was first brought in to the institution but she flashed me a smile that told me it was her to know and for me to find out. “Everything will be answered in there” was what she said when I inquired about the notebook. I have included the notebook in the list of evidence for your review.

            Throughout our one-on-one sessions, I have studied the notebook and asked her of her opinions regarding what she wrote. She insisted that all of it was true to detail and that she had not embellished the truth in any way. This is what I have deduced so far regarding her notes:

****

**_January Entry_ – It is true that Ouija games have always been a rather fascinating cult amongst teenagers. Reports from the hospital her friend Abigail was committed said that she had suffered an almost fatal wound to her jugular by an unidentified weapon which matched neither of the possible objects that could be used as a cutting instrument. The weapon had literally sliced through her jugular and through her vocal chords, damaging it permanently. My theory towards Abigail’s statement on a returning coin she used for the Ouija game was probably due to self-fulfilling prophecy. Because of the after-effects often rumoured happening whenever you play Ouija, and even though she had so-called practiced the ‘sending off’ ritual, she still _expect_ the after-effects to happen to her, and by constantly expecting it to happen, whenever she sees a random coin, probably there by coincidence or nothing to do with her, she assumed it was the coin she had used for the Ouija game and got into paranoia. In my personal opinion, her wound could be due to self-infliction. After all, according to her psychiatric evaluation, before she went insane, she was a trend setter in class and a fashion freak, which includes keeping long fingernails and enjoyed fingernail painting and illustrations. Since there have been known cases that fingernails can also be used as cutting instruments as, aside from teeth, they are the strongest part of the body, I can only assume that she strongly believed that her ‘coin stalker’ was due to the spirit whom Steph described only as ‘E’, and, overwhelmed by guilt of playing a taboo game and her paranoia, did not realized that she had used her fingernails to cut herself. The draft that Steph claimed she felt during the game was, without a doubt, just a _coincidence_. Nothing more, nothing less.**

**_February Entry_ – I have researched the story about the wounded man in the Rasa Ria Hotel at Borneo as per written by Steph. It was confirmed that a foreign worker who used to help clean the corridors of the hotel during its early years of business. Mr. Endon Mahlon Santos, presumably Spanish decent from the Philippines, broke both his legs when he was cleaning one of the corridor toilets as one big piece of the ceiling fell onto him, literally severing them off. He had tried to call for help by trying to get to the lift up to the office at the top floor, but bled to death on the way up. No one heard the fall because it was in the middle of the night and the toilets were beyond the guest rooms’ earshot. The faulty ceiling was fixed and Mr. Santos’s body was shipped back to the Philippines to be dealt with by his immediate family. I cannot fully explain why Steph claims to have felt the presence of Mr. Santos’s “spirit”, but I can deduce that it is possible she might have heard about the history of the hotel somewhere between the lines but conveniently forgot about it (although during my questioning, she adamantly denied ever hearing the story of Mr. Santos), and at that particular floor, her subconscious recalled the memory and ignited her imagination to _think_ that she had heard and felt Mr. Santos’s “spirit”.**

**_March Entry_ – For this case, it had perked my interest as to how her mind works. Kyoko is definitely confirmed to be deceased as Steph had claimed her to be. Kyoko Hinagata, along with her parents, had been brutally shot in Japan when a group of robber was trying to look for a getaway car after robbing a bank. Her parents were shot first, and when she got off the car to call for help, she was gunned down. There have been scientific proof, although rare and only happens to child prodigies and those who really force themselves to excise their brain use to its fullest, that a person can create manifestations to life for everyone to see and, in rare cases, feel. Such cases also often explain the poltergeist phenomenon where the haunting are manifestations of a disturbed or psychologically unstable mind. Again, it is possible (though she denies it as usual) that Steph may have heard about the student exchange program and about Kyoko’s features, and was so excited about meeting her in person that her subconscious ignited her imagination and managed to project it out into the physical world for people to see, and to gain a little recognition perhaps because of her lack of popularity in the past. The incident during the Hyaku Monogatari or 100th Ghost Story Camp is most probably another one of the culture she learnt from her Japanese class and used her manifested Kyoko as a medium to carry out her desire to play the game, and, through self-fulfilling prophecy, manifested the scary results she had expected to happened at the end of the game as per said by the culture. She has included an anime bookmark she claims as a gift given by Kyoko and I have examined it to be real to the touch. I have informed the proper departments to come over to closely monitor Steph to see how plausible and how powerful her powers of physical manifestations can be, which will later be discussed in later parts of this report.**

**_April Entry_ – Refer to March Entry. Additional notes: Possible reasons for this manifestations is probably due to the influence of her Headmistress about her religious beliefs and all the “bad for karma” theories, and she has created these manifestations due to self-fulfilling prophecy and her worries, within her subconscious mind, of her Headmistress’s theories being true.**

**_May Entry_ – Refer to February Entry.**

**_June Entry_ – Refer to March Entry. Additional notes: Regarding the strange man who gave the flyer, which she had stapled it as proof onto her notebook, the address is confirmed to lead to the burnt down building, which is currently to be reconstructed as a parking lot. So far, there have been no cases of supernatural extraordinaire, which possibly explains the manifestation phenomena Steph created when she _expected_ the carnival to be real. The strange man passing the carnival flyers could possibly be playing a prank on her. The rotten flesh that was claimed to be ice-cream could possibly be part of her illusionary techniques to further make her manifestations more realistic. Although articles have explained of possible spirits within dolls due to human emotional attachment and haunted cemetery, no one has really had solid proof, which further confirms Steph’s possible powers.**

**_July Entry_ – Refer to March Entry.**

**_August Entry_ – It is possible that due to an unfamiliar environment, her need for recognition and companionship due to her new environment and the ignorance of her family, and her emotional attachment towards the swing at her backyard, she had created an imaginary friend and lover based on Frederick Clements, the son of the Clements family who accused her of sabotaging their business at their merger company Clements & Marjorie Associates Co. Again, it is possible that she had heard about him somewhere between the lines about the history of the house, as it is stated in the contract law of a realtor’s job to reveal the back story of any previous owners of a house and reasons why it is sold, but conveniently dismissed and forgot about it. The reason as to why her imaginary friend is not visible and did not manifest into reality for her to see is either because it’s just a minor imagination centered within her mind or that her “Frederick” is a personal friend of us that is dear and secret to her and not someone she could just simply share with others.**

**_September Entry_ – This may probably be the most violent manifestation she had ever created and that I have ever analyzed so far. It could be because of her deep desire to remain hidden from her family and from the authorities that her subconscious mind began to create some sort of being that can eliminate anyone it deemed may serve as a threat to giving away her whereabouts. When her plans to eliminate them quietly backfired by the disappearance of Mr. Trent the head of the shelter that attracted the law enforcers, her mind becomes desperate to search for a way to show the people that she did not commit those crimes. To divert their attention to someone else, she had conveniently used the urban legend and the story told by Martin about the history of the shelter (which was confirmed to be true by re-interviews of the residence of the shelter and reports of police) to create a whole new being that could demonstrate strength impossible for an average girl like her to portray. “The old bum” was just a poor victim—scapegoat—to make her point and let the public focus more on the urban legend than her. Measures to monitor her can be referred to in the March Entry.**

**_October Entry_ – Refer to September Entry. Additional notes: For the spirit she claimed to see in the playground, refer to February Entry.**

**_November Entry_ – Refer to February Entry. Additional notes: Possible reasons why she claims to see “Father Death” is because of her possible fear of death if ever she encountered the inevitable. She could be having certain irrational fears about the people who find her may conduct ways of trying to cure her to the point of endangering her life, like what psychiatric institutes used to do in the past to cure their patients of their ailments. Or probably, the most fearful of all conclusions I do not wish to end up, is her plans to end her own life.**

**_December Entry_ – When I asked her about the accusations against her regarding the sabotage case, she claimed that it was the tomb below the building she claimed to have removed the seal off that caused the business downfall. I have studied the tomb and its history and all claims of it being a sacrificial ground have been confirmed. It was a from a civilization of possibly during the Ice Age where humans at that time have tried many ways to end the ice cold weather and bring back the warm, luscious season. Scientist concluded that it could possibly mean the beginning of man believing in the power of something or someone much higher up than themselves, i.e. gods and goddesses. There have been sayings of age-old tombs creating positive and negative energy due to the nature of their entombment and long years of decay, and according to my deductions, I believe that the negative energy that was so-called channeled by the said “shaman” to work positively onto the Clements’ company have somehow connected with the energy force displayed by Steph’s power of manifestation. And, coupled with Steph’s feeling of resentment to the Clements’ for their indifference towards their son’s death and her desire to make them pay, her manifestation managed to redirect the energy that used to benefit the Clements and work negatively against them, causing them to lose their business. Measures to monitor her can be referred to in the March Entry.**

****

            Despite the fact that I have deduced such conclusions, I have to admit—in a sense where I resent and hate the fact that I _could_ be wrong—that my perspective and speculation changed as I carried on monitoring and treating Steph.

            For example, after my discussion about her notebook with her, she started to develop a habit of staring at her inmates for a very long time. Sometimes she could stare for hours and never take her eyes off her intended even though it was during meal times or during medication hours, stopping only during bedtime. There have been a few times when the person she stared at would get annoyed and got physical with her, demanding that she tell them what it was that intrigued her to gave them that dead fish look, but she just smiled and did not say a word. Some of them, especially inmates who have violent tendency, beat her up to the point where she could die at any moment (whom we finally managed to apprehend after countless doses of sedatives), but still she refused to reveal her intentions. And after 3 days of staring, she would draw their attention in her own silent way and pointed at them for no particular reason before doing her own thing. The next day, the inmate she had targeted would suddenly all dead for no particular health problems whatsoever.

            This habit continued for several weeks until she had earned the nickname “Ms. Death” or “Harbinger of Death” by her inmates, causing them to fear her even more. Whenever she started staring at someone, he/she will go hysterical and demand any working attendant to take her away and stop her from staring at them, which to no avail, because 3 days later, with or without her staring and pointing, that person would die. Some feared her so much that the moment she started staring, they would scream and commit suicide in any way possible, not wanting to suffer 3 days of worrying and wondering what is in store for them.

            When I asked her about this habit of hers, she just quietly replied that she could see a symbol on her inmates’ head that increased in size and shape and pattern within those 3 days, and finally on the 3rd day, the symbol would form itself into a skull, which indicated that he/she was going to die. She pointed at the intended because she wanted to show her imaginary friend who the next victim of Father Death was, because she claimed “spirits” cannot see the symbol, only her. She said that every symbol appeared to be different every time, and claimed that she stared at them because she just wanted to find out how the symbol changes, but in the end, no matter how different or odd-looking it started out, it would always end up as a skull. I joked about her “vision”, asking her if she had seen any of the symbols on anyone besides the inmates, and she held up seven fingers and would not say more. Sure enough, seven of our workers have died in the most bizarre forms, from getting crushed by a falling cupboard, choking on their food, drowning in their own bathtub, burnt alive by a lit match and even die from an infection after getting cut by a penknife. I have included her drawings of how the symbols looked like among the list of evidence.

            I told her about my theory of her power of manifestation and confessed to her that I had specialists monitoring her secretly. I asked if she actually willed them to die out of spite out of vengeance, or out of fun even. She, after hearing all my theories and conclusions as to what I think happened with whatever she wrote in her notebook, gave me a cold stare for almost 5 long, silent minutes, and said “I thought I could trust you” and walked out of my office before I allowed her to. The next day, she requested that she be put in the basement where all the Code Red patients are at her own free will. Since we have met with no objections form either the workers or the inmates, I have no choice but to comply with her request.

            Since then, stranger things began to happen in the institute. Poltergeist phenomena began to occur at every ward of the inmates. Unexplained accidents occur that often involved severe injuries and death, and costing the institute millions of dollars in damages and lawsuit for misconduct and unsatisfactory treatment to patients. Certain “things” were caught on camera (which I have include in the list of evidence) everywhere, and a lot were from Steph’s cell where she could be seen talking to a young boy and him caressing her cheek, but when we come down to check, she was actually talking to air, but security guards monitoring the cameras claimed that the boy was right there and still there in front of her. More and more patients have been removed from our institute to be relocated to other places and we are left with only a handful of them, which include the Code Red patients and of course, Steph.

            I begged Steph to stop her manifestations right this moment. I struck deals with her, asking her to stop whatever she was doing if I call off the researchers and specialists who have been monitoring her in secret, or issue her a letter that she is cured and free to go, but she just smiled, shook her head and said that she was fine just right there, and that she cannot hold back whatever her “Frederick” is allowing the dead tortured souls of the dead inmates do.

            “You shouldn’t have made Frederick mad,” that was the last thing she said to me before shutting me out as well.

            She never responded to me since then.

            Yet the strange phenomena still continued.

            The specialists and researchers who secretly monitored her came back with the results, said that while the strange phenomena continues to happen, they have noticed that there is no extra brain activity whatsoever occurring on her. At first, they thought it could probably be a faulty machine, but after checking and double-checking the machinery for almost 10 times, they still got the same results. Even when they discarded the ones they’re using and bought new, more advanced ones, the results were still the same. After much discussion, they wish to take her off my hands to study her some more. I agreed and signed some papers to wash her hands off my case. Surely enough, the strange phenomena stopped immediately after she left the building.

            I have not heard from her for almost 3 years, and only received brief reports on how her progress was, ending it always with the sentence “Further studies needed to be conducted”. I have included photocopies of their research and reports both while they were studying her in my institution and at their own in the list of evidence for your reference. Finally, during New Year’s Eve 20XX, while I was celebrating it at the staff lounge with what’s left of my workers when suddenly there was a breaking news on TV showing the institution where Steph was taken to be studied on fire. It seemed like no matter how the firemen aimed the water directly at the fire, they could not put it out. They could not determine what caused the fire and so far, all forms of fire extinguishing material possible had been used, to no avail. The building continued to burn on and on and there was nothing the firemen could do about it but rescued as much people out of the building as possible. The next day, the fire finally burned down the entire building to the ground. Very little of them escaped with barely their lives, most of them with severe second and third degree burns all over, and many had been reduced to ash in the burning rubble.

            I wondered if Steph had suffered the same fate as those in the hospital or as those dead in the ashes of the institution, but my wondering was met with a surprise visit from the face who cannot be any more familiar: Stephannie Wellsburg Kingston Patient No. 180 standing at the front door of my institute drenched in blood and covered with soot and ash, worsen with the cold snow outside, staring blankly at me without a word. She just collapsed into my arms and went in and out of consciousness as we tried the best we could to heal her. There was one time when she woke up and she managed to stay up for about 30 minutes to tell me what happened. The full story is in one of the recordings I have included in the list of evidence, but basically she claimed that further probing on her by the specialists have angered her “Frederick” and caused him to create all sorts of haunting chaos around the institution, and when she butted in to stop him, he went out of control and blew every circuit there is in the building, setting off the fire. She claimed that he was going to let them burn, and let her burn as well for taking their side and not acknowledging his sacrifice for her. After that, she went into a coma and soon into a semi-vegetative state.

            On the late evening of March 20XX, Steph had a visitor. His descriptions matched exactly like the boy she had met at the hospice for the homeless. He claimed to be an old friend of hers while he was a worker at the hospice, and introduced himself as Repaer Mirg. It sounded almost like a Dutch or Russian name, and he was an odd eye, so I assumed he was a foreigner. He spoke well of Steph’s past, claiming that during her time in the hospice they had shared many stories between each other, and that he pitied that the world had to give her such a burden when she was only a little girl and that she was meant to do many great things, just in the wrong lifetime. He sounded almost like the way Steph had written in her notebook, and spoke like a boy beyond his age and in riddle- and cryptic-like quality. I had secretly turned on my recorder to tape our conversation to make some comparison with the boy Steph wrote about in her notebook, and he seemed to give me a sort of knowing look but did not mention anything about it. He advised me to use the mirror as he commented about how messy my hair looked, to which I agreed, just to humour him. He gave a kiss on her forehead and whispered “It’s time to go, old friend” before leaving quietly, giving me a smile and walking out with his right extended and clutched, as if holding someone’s hand.

            It was that moment that I realized that Steph had no longer had a pulse. She had breathed her last on that day. Her time of death was 1730 hours on 7th March 20XX.

            I have gone to the hospice and cross-examined every existing volunteer, nurses and doctors that worked there, but there is no such name as Repaer Mirg. When I described how Repaer looked like to them, none of them recognized or had a clue as to who I was talking about. It was when I tried to get a sample of his picture by looking through the tape of that day from the security cameras that I realized I could not: he was not captured in camera! I was talking to air! To no one, just like when Steph was talking to her “Frederick”, only this was a vice versa situation! And yet, his voice captured in the recording, like a white noise! I was then reminded of his comment he gave me on “using the mirror”, which showed that his name was actually GRIM REAPER spelled backwards. I have the recording and a copy of that security tape included in the list of evidence to prove my point.

            Thus, after my personal encounters and observation throughout my entire career as Steph’s doctor and psychiatrist, my conclusion towards her case is that Stephannie Wellsburg Kingston, Patient No. 180 is, without a doubt, a possible link to the world of the unknown. There are so many things that science cannot truly explain in this world, and things that happen beyond our control and our scientific comprehension still shows how little we know the world and how truly small we are. We tend to want to explain things and try to make sense every single detail in our universe, but the fact is that there are so many things that is going on in our world that can sometimes be a little bit outside our norm and beyond our capability of understanding, comprehension and acceptance that we lack the will and the courage to even dare venture into that area, and thus, we become in denial.

            For me, I personally fear for my life as Steph had claimed that whoever sees the Grim Reaper usually would not live long, and I am worrying every single day of my life wondering what would mark my end. After my experience, Steph has somewhat made me a believer, and I dread the day I would meet ‘Repaer Mirg’ again.

            The rest is for you to judge.

            Yours truly,

            Dr. Gregory Gray, PhD.

 

* * *

 

_Post note (by Norrington Abe, assistant CEO of Federal Investigation Bureau): This report has been received three days after the tragic death of Dr. Gregory Gray after he had been brutally attacked by one of his patients with a penknife, fatally slicing his jugular. The body of Subject 180 has been acquired a day before burial on the pretense that she had signed an organ donors’ card during her sentence in Dr. Gray’s institute. Her body, along with this report will be thoroughly studied and further investigations regarding this matter and of the subject’s “paranormal experiences” are being made._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Has everything that had happened throughout Steph’s life truly happen and really for real, or all just a bunch of hoax. You decide.


End file.
